Let It Happen

Part 3

And boy, did he want to.  Flicking his eyes up for a millisecond at a time, he tried, he really did.  Eventually, Quentin decided to stop waiting and squeezed Peter’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, just hard enough to have a grip and shove Peter’s head up a fraction.

Peter followed the hand directing his head and his eyes settled on Quentin’s.  They looked a bit unfocused but he was clearly still alert.  Quentin stated again, more forcefully this time, “Tell me what you were doing then.  If you weren’t being good for me.  What were you doing, Peter?”

Peter let out a breath as the desire to obey shook him to his core.  “I tried to- but I couldn’t.  Cause you... your voice.  You- you wouldn’t let me…”

He trailed off, knowing he wasn’t making much sense.  He would just have to hope that the other man would magically know what he meant, the same way he tended to throughout their entire acquaintance.  It must not have been too much to ask because Quentin released Peter’s chin like he had shocked him.

And he had been shocked.  Because if he understood correctly, and he had only given one instruction to Peter the last time they saw each other, Peter had just said that he hadn’t been able to touch himself successfully because of Quentin.  Not because he had consciously wanted to listen to him, but because he had been unable not to.

If there was one thing that made Quentin feel powerful, it was knowing that someone had been unable to disobey him even though they had tried.  The thought was enough to get him half hard himself.

Peter had stumbled back a half step at being so abruptly let go of.  He seemed even more unsure, still standing in the hall into the apartment.

“Say that again.”

Peter looked almost fearful.  Quentin would think he was coming on too harsh, but Peter was still noticeably hard.  He decided he could afford to push a bit more.

“Peter.”  That got the boy to stand up a bit straighter.  “Say that again.  Now.”

He watched Peter swallow, throat bobbing with the effort it took.  “I tried to- to, you know.  And I-,”

“Tried to what, Peter?”

Peter’s eyes bulged a bit at the prospect of having to say what he had done.  He wasn’t a shy kid necessarily, but this kind of thing was all new to him and this was a fully fledged adult he was talking with.  He felt remarkably juvenile in the whole thing.

“I need to know what you did.  You were given one very specific instruction, do you remember?”  Quentin paused to let Peter process.  “I need to know if you listened to me or not, Peter.”

Peter gulped again.  He licked his lips before answering, sensing something from Quentin that was making him nervous.  Good.  That would make everything much better for their evening plans.

“I tried to...like, do stuff myself, you know?”  He appeared to be wracking his brain for other ways to say things that explained his answer without using the actual terminology for what he had done.  “Like, when I was ‘excited,’ you know, and couldn’t make it...couldn't make it stop?”

He looked like he was barely stopping himself from fidgeting.  His skin was flushed with either embarrassment or arousal all the way from his hairline down to his collarbone, which was left barely exposed under his sweatshirt.

Oh, did Quentin enjoy the redness on Peter’s fair skin.  He wondered what bruises would look like.  They wouldn’t last long, but that just made it better.   A new canvas, ready as soon as he finished with the old one.

But he was getting ahead of himself.  He was still waiting for Peter to explain that he had tried jacking off without Quentin and couldn’t make it satisfying enough to follow through with it.

“Sweetheart, you can do better than that.  You’re a genius, Peter.  Use your big boy words for me.”

Peter bit his lip to stifle the whimper he felt forming.  He was pretty sure he had just been praised and scolded in the same breath and, for some reason, he felt his c**k spasm in his pants.  They had been uncomfortably tight from that first bit of physical contact and it didn’t show any signs of easing up any time soon.

“I...I got hard.”  Quentin nodded, waiting for him to continue.  “Like, a lot.  And it kept happening.  And I couldn’t- I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“And why is that, Peter?”  Quentin pressed.

“Because everytime I tried I...heard you?”  Peter's face took on a look of shame, brow scrunched, lips pressed together tightly.  His fingers were picking at the fraying edge of his sweatshirt pocket.   

Quentin had to suppress the smirk trying to take over his face.  “Sorry, kid.  You lost me.  What do you mean by ‘you heard me?’”  He raised his hand back to his face, crossing his other arm over his waist to support it in case he lost the perfect control he had over his facial expression.

He absolutely knew what Peter meant but he was enjoying this far too much to let him get away without explaining it properly.

“So, you got hard.  And probably pretty desperate, right?  Cause you’re still just a teenager.  After I left, you must’ve been pretty worked up.  So, that night?  What did you do?”

Peter started shaking his head as soon as Quentin said ‘that night.’  “No, I couldn’t do anything that night. I was- it was like I was drunk?  That must be what it feels like to be drunk, everything was just, so much.  Almost like when I first got the bite.”

He shook his head to clear it of the memory as Quentin asked, “So, the next night then?  When you had recovered some?”

“No.”  The look of shame was back on Peter’s face.  No, maybe this one was guilt.  They were very closely related, hard to tell apart sometimes.  “No, not that night either.  Not for, not for a while…”

“Why not?”  Quentin asked.  Or rather, demanded.  Because everything he had asked of Peter so far had been less of a request and more of a demand.  When he was like this, he seemed to respond much better to commands anyway.

Quentin could work with that.

“Because I couldn’t- I couldn’t do it and not think about you!”  Peter declared in a burst of defiance.  He seemed unhappy at having to admit to that.  “I couldn’t think about anything but you when I felt like, well, like that.  And I didn’t want to.  I didn’t want to think about anything from that night.  It seemed just, wrong, I guess.”

“There it is.  So, you were thinking about me though?  Even though you didn’t want to.  Is that why you didn’t come to me then?  You wanted to, but you didn’t want to want to?”

Peter, whose eyes had been busy darting anywhere but at Quentin during this process, finally returned to the man as he inched towards Peter again.

“Yeah.”  Peter licked his lips again.  Quentin was very distracted by that tongue, pink against his lips, leaving a sheen behind.  How good they would look swollen and red from Quentin’s own teeth and lips.  “I don’t know what that, you know, what it was.  But it wasn’t good, right?  It wasn’t how I should have responded.”

“It was fine.”  It was perfectly natural for how Peter was, but they could get into that another time.  Back to what Quentin had been digging for.  “I still haven’t heard about you not being good for me, Peter.”

Somehow Quentin’s words had twisted to sound more like Peter had been bad than when he first said them.  It made something twinge in his gut.  He didn’t like that those words, ‘good’ and ‘bad’ could be used so efficiently against him.

“Well, it was the last couple days.  Everything was getting- it was all getting hard to care about, like, it was hard to follow?  Which is how it was before.  You know, before you gave me like, hyperfocus somehow?”  Peter looked confused as he was trying to explain.  Quentin couldn’t wait to sink his claws into this innocent kid, he was so delicious.

“So, I tried.  To like, do things?  I tried to make myself... come.  With my hand.  I tried to- do that, and I got close but I couldn’t... come.  Because you said... and I could hear you saying it in my head and it stopped me and I couldn’t do it.”

This was just too good, Quentin could barely stand it.  “What did I say, baby?”

Peter took in a sharp inhale of breath at the endearment, but Quentin pressed on.  “Peter, come on.  Tell me what I said that made you stop.”

“You said- you told me not to.  That I couldn’t until…”  Peter trailed off, unsure if he wanted to finish the sentence because it sounded so insecure in his head.  

To be fair, he was, but he didn’t want to announce that to anyone.  Especially not Quentin Beck himself.

“Until?”  Quentin urged.  He was nearly touching Peter at this point, but he would hold off until he heard the words from Peter’s mouth.

“Until… I saw you.  Again.”  If possible, his face got even redder.  It was like he was admitting to wanting it, having to say it out loud like that.  It felt good, even though he felt very vulnerable at the confession.

“And?”  At Peter’s confused look, Quentin clarified.  “Did you?”  

“I- no!  No, I didn’t.  I couldn’t, it wasn’t- you weren’t- no.  No, sir.”

The jolt of arousal that shot up Quentin’s spine was as unexpected as Peter using the word ‘sir’ but neither was unwelcome.

“That sounds a lot like you did listen to me, Peter.  Better than I expected.  I know how... hard it is, being a teenager with no real release for these kinds of urges.”  Quentin had stepped into Peter’s space again, the boy barely seeming to register the change.  “‘Cause these aren’t the regular urges, are they?”

Peter seemed scared for a moment before Quentin continued, running his hand up the back of Peter’s arm.  “The urge to own or be owned by someone.  To be so in control or so vulnerable it eclipses everything else in your life.  To be able to let go of the real stuff for a while and have someone else take priority like that.”

He was leaning closer with every word, closing the distance between their faces.  When he was close enough, Quentin’s eyes dropped to Peter’s lips.  “Does that sound like what happened to you?”

Peter nodded, breathless and helpless to give any more intelligent response.

“And does that sound like something you want me to take care of for you, Peter?”  He brought his other hand up, snaking it around Peter’s waist, pulling him into his larger body slowly, giving him time to back out.

‘Cause once Quentin started on him, there would be very little time for Peter to change his mind.  He needed to be sure right now.

Peter nodded again.  Quentin shook his head, forehead practically touching Peter’s now.  “Remember what I said, Peter?  You’ve gotta use those big boy words.”

Peter whined, then softly and eagerly, Quentin heard, “Yes.  Please.”

And that was all it took.  Quentin closed the distance and covered Peter’s lips with his own.

The kiss started out softly because Quentin was still a decent person, even if his morals didn’t all point due North.  When Peter let his mouth fall open on a gasp, Quentin ran his tongue along his bottom lip, sensing Peter quivering against his chest, his arms coming up to clutch at Quentin’s shoulders like he needed an anchor.

Then he was absolutely devouring Peter’s mouth.

He knew that Peter had very little experience with this kind of thing.  At least, he assumed the kid hadn’t experienced much.  He just seemed too... innocent.

Quentin tried to keep that in mind for all of five seconds before he was licking into Peter’s mouth, tongue claiming the new area, pulling Peter in even more.  Peter shuddered at the possessiveness in that kiss.

Of all the ways Peter thought this would go, possessiveness wasn’t one of the things he had come up with.  Cruel, cold, manipulative maybe, were the adjectives he would have assigned the interaction prior to entering the room.

Now it just felt like he was- like he was wanted.  And the thought blew his mind.  Quentin had waited for him to admit he wanted this.

Well, technically he had forced Peter to admit it, but that was only because Peter wouldn’t even admit it to himself.  If he had, it would have been an even softer process.

Softer, because the way Quentin was clutching him to his chest with one arm wrapped around his entire waist and the other on his face and neck, tilting his head so he was in the best position possible for Quentin to own him was nothing near the harsh touches he had been expecting.

He had been expecting bruises.  Scratches and hand prints and things he would have to hide from everyone for the next day or so until his healing took care of the problem.  He hadn't been looking forward to the hiding it part of the experience but he had kinda liked the thought of just being destroyed by this man now being so careful to let Peter catch up.

After ensuring he had access to every part of Peter that was available to him at the moment, Quentin moved his hand from Peter’s face and brought it up to where one of Peter’s hands was still glued to his shoulder.

He took Peter’s hand and moved it up and back, resting it on his neck, high enough up that he could feel the little hairs at the nape.  Switching hands, so he could keep Peter pressed against his body from chest to groin, he moved Peter’s other hand alongside the first then pulled away from the kiss.

He could feel Peter unable to stop himself from rutting against the thigh he had slotted between Peter’s legs in the process of fitting them together.  It was an amazing feeling that Quentin never would have thought he would enjoy as much as he did.

Turned out there really was nothing Peter could do that would make this a bad experience for him.

Peter tried to chase after his lips as they pulled back, unsure what else to do, but knowing he didn’t want to lose any bit of connection with the man.  

Quentin watched, amused as Peter’s eyes finally opened to look at him in a dazed sort of confusion.  Quentin pressed in for another kiss, just enough to steal Peter’s breath again, before dropping down to touch his lips just under his ear.  

Peter let out a hoarse sound of protest at the sudden sensation on such a sensitive area.  Quentin smirked against his skin, letting his teeth drag over the tendon there, just behind Peter’s jaw.  He let them scrape the surface for a moment before digging in and biting.  

He applied more pressure than he would normally.  He had seen the kid get hit by a train and be physically fit enough to take on a team of drones before most people would have died of the injuries he sustained.

Peter shouted as he felt the teeth sink into his skin.  Maybe there would be some of those things he had initially imagined.  It certainly wasn’t going to be disappointing, that was for sure.

Then his thoughts lost most sense and he just felt.

His hands, which he had been too scared to move, caught on Quentin’s hair, wrapping the strands in his fingers and clamping down, much the way Quentin was still doing to his neck.  He felt the noise Quentin released against his skin and the rhythm of his hips was interrupted by the harsh thrust forward the man gave.

Oh god, Peter wanted to feel more of that.  The warmth of Quentin through his jeans held so much promise, the shape of his c**k, assuring Peter he wasn’t alone in how affected he was.

He couldn’t wait for more.  He needed it so badly, he couldn’t even think.  Just ‘Quentin’ and ‘more’ and ‘now.’  Those were the only words that held meaning as Quentin moved on to another spot on his neck and caught Peter’s hips in his grip, long fingers wrapping around the hip bones and squeezing until they ached in the most delicious way.

Peter was having problems stopping the sounds from escaping, even with his bottom lip caught tight between his teeth.  Quentin paused his work on Peter’s neck to glance up at the muffled sound.  

Pulling back from Peter, he put on a serious expression.  When Peter realized he had stopped, he eventually forced his eyes to look at Quentin, though he couldn’t stop the pulsing of his hips against Quentin’s thigh.  The strokes got smaller and less intentional, more reflexive, but they refused to cease entirely.

Quentin stopped all movement.  He was forced to recognize that he had been moving steadily against the boy in his arms, holding him by his hips to help them move together, rather than fighting against each other.

The sound that came from Peter’s mouth next was one of question.  No doubt he couldn’t find the words to ask, so lost to the sensations he was feeling.

Quentin took pity on him for a moment.  The time he would be doing that was limited, because once he got what he wanted from the boy, there would be no more going easy.

Using his thumb to pull Peter’s lip out from his teeth, he said firmly, “Those are my noises, sweetheart. I earned those.  Don’t you dare try to keep those from me.”

Peter’s breathing stopped entirely at that.  He stared up at Quentin like he was desperate to do anything to please the other man.  Quentin thought it was possible that was exactly the case.

As he continued tugging at Peter’s lip, the kid’s tongue darted out to touch Quentin’s thumb.  The jolt he felt from the warm, wet tip of Peter’s tongue was unexpected.  It was the kind of thing you read about but didn’t actually exist. 

Except that apparently it did, and Quentin very much just felt the electric pulse the action had sent through him.  Looking into Peter’s wide eyes, he knew it wasn’t meant to get any kind of reaction from him.  He was just acting on instinct.

Good instincts, kid.  Quentin pushed his thumb forward and pressed it just inside Peter’s mouth.  This time he let Peter close his lips when he tried.  It wasn’t to stifle more sounds of pleasure, so he would allow it.

Once his lips closed, Peter sucked.  His tongue wrapped around the thumb pressed there and the suction pulled just right.  Quentin’s thumb went tingly from the sensation, his whole body feeling it.  He clutched Peter tighter to him in response and Peter moaned.

His mouth may have been closed but Quentin still got the full effect of the sound he caused, feeling the vibrations in his thumb as Peter sucked.

“There you go, now you’re getting it.  Those sounds are mine.  I want them all, just like that.”  Quentin rocked forward, giving Peter more friction like he needed.  Peter lost all control then, hips trying to speed him toward the orgasm Quentin had unintentionally-on purpose been preventing Peter from experiencing.

Quentin moved his hand down from Peter’s hip to cup his ass, a perfect swell in his jeans.  Grabbing a handful and guiding Peter against him that way gave him an all new angle.  His fingers dug into the denim in a way that made him wish it wasn’t there.  His fingers itched to make contact with bare skin, to be able to spread Peter open and feel his heat.

Patience.  He just had to be patient.  That was all part of his plan.

First, he had a job to do.  He knew how cruel it had been to leave Peter hanging for as long as he had.  Not that the length of time had been his choice.  If he had chosen, Peter would have been here the very next night, begging for release.

But this would make it all the better.  Impatient as Quentin was, he was a firm believer in delayed gratification making everything more meaningful, more intense.

He could see the proof of that in Peter’s hips still struggling to stutter forward, grinding what, by now, must be his painful erection against Quentin.  He let out a strained sound, probably because Quentin wasn’t helping him out anymore.  He hadn’t resumed the roll of his hips that had been so effective at building towards Peter’s pleasure.

“What’s that, Peter?”  Quentn pulled his wet thumb out from Peter’s lips, trail of saliva following along behind.  “Getting desperate, are you?  Thought you were desperate before, but that was nothing compared to now, was it?”  

Using that same thumb, he dragged it across Peter’s lips, down his chin and back along his jaw, watching as it left a trail of slickness behind.

Peter shook his head, forcing his hips forward with as much movement as he could manage in the limited space between himself and Quentin.  It wasn’t enough.  It was so close, but just barely not enough.

Quentin’s hand repositioned from Peter’s ass to his hip, other hand dragging the shirt there up high enough for his fingers to dip below the waistband of Peter’s underwear.  

They didn’t stop there.  Once he felt the skin there, Quentin had no intention of stopping.  He palmed the skin of Peter’s ass, light touches that acquainted him with the area before gripping tight and kneading the muscle there.

The action made Peter shout at how much more stimulation he was able to get with Quentin helping to work his hips forward again.  He really wanted something more, Quentin could tell from how he was clutching at him, one hand still tangled in his hair, the other scrabbling at his back trying to find something to ground him from the intensity of his need.

Quentin moved his hand down far enough he could run a finger between Peter’s cheeks, dipping low enough to press against his hole.  Peter whined again and it sounded strangled this time.  His hips were moving in tiny, desperate twitching motions. 

“Aw, are you getting all worked up, kiddo?”  Quentin teased verbally, matching the teasing presses to his ass.  Just enough pressure to open him up, nothing that would be remotely satisfying.  “You sound a little choked up.  Are you that desperate already?  Gonna cry for me before you’ve even got your clothes off?”

Peter was beyond being ashamed, so instead the words just served as more incentive to chase his orgasm.  He nodded frantically; he had been feeling the frustrated tears behind his eyelids since the last time he closed his eyes.  He refused to let them fall but he didn’t think he would have control over it for much longer.  He was long past the point of being in control of his own body.

Fortunately, Quentin Beck was great at taking control.  He was still helping Peter to work himself against him, not moving against Peter anymore but still providing him with the friction he craved so badly.  His large hands had the perfect grip, one on his hip bone and the other on the cheek of his ass, holding so that one finger could continue to press between his cheeks in a place Peter suddenly really wanted him to explore further.

He just needed more.  More of the man's hands on his skin, digging into his flesh, more motion to get stimulation to his painful erection after so long of desperately needing release, more of Quentin’s words that told him no matter what the actual words said, that he could let go and just worry about this and nothing else.  Just feel, because that was all Quentin wanted him to do.

Finally, the tears spilled over.  He couldn’t help it, and a ragged sob escaped along with it.  It didn’t matter anymore, Quentin already knew.  He had said it and it didn’t seem to displease him a bit.

In fact, when the sound left Peter’s throat, he thought he heard an answering groan and those perfect hands squeezed tighter, pressed deeper.  Peter was so far gone he couldn't tell for sure, but he thought he even felt Quentin’s c**k twitch against his stomach where they were pressed together so tightly.

Quentin looked down at the boy in his arms, tears sliding down his cheeks, flushed from exertion, lips bitten a beautiful red, swollen from his own teeth as well as from Quentin.  He had marks along his neck that were already fading from the bright color they were when Quentin had left them.

Huh, he’d have to work on how harsh to go to make them last a bit longer.  Then again, blank canvas to try again soon.  Just a little longer…

“God, you look so f*****g ruined.  You’re all red and marked up, it’s worse than when we fight.  And oh man, do I like these noises better.”  Quentin ran his nose along Peter’s neck, biting his earlobe when he got to it.  Peter shouted again.  “Yeah, just like that.  So needy.”

The whimpers from Peter’s throat at every buck of his hips sounded so pleading Quentin couldn’t believe he had held out this long.  He knew it was the dynamic they had between them because with any other partner he would have given in to his own desires long ago.  But everything about Peter screamed to be controlled, to be manipulated, to be denied.  

He'd already done that once, now he was thinking he should reward the kid for his good behavior.

“Okay, kiddo.  Since you told me how well you listened, you get a reward.”  The words, whispered in a husky voice directly into Peter’s ear, made every single one of the boy’s muscles clench.  “Go ahead, Peter.  Take what you need.”

Pulling Peter’s ear lobe into his mouth again to nip at it with his sharp teeth gave a very satisfying result.  Quentin could feel how tight Peter was, all of the tension gripping his body, unable to get it to release with how badly he needed to come.  

Quentin almost felt bad, but he knew what he had planned for the rest of the night and comforted himself with the fact that Peter wouldn’t be able to tense a muscle up if he tried by the time Quentin was done with him.  He would be loose and boneless and the most relaxed he had ever been.

Even the unstoppable force that was Peter’s brain wouldn’t be able to function properly by the time he let the kid rest.